Rainy Day Spaceship
by Eileen
Summary: It starts with a rainy day on a resort world. And it just goes downhill from there. Now complete!
1. The Worst Holiday Ever

_Disclaimer: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and all related characters belong to the late, great Douglas Adams._

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has this to say about Zuliphix XII, well-known throughout the galaxy as a holiday destination: "Famed for its white sand beaches, its lush greenery, and evenings lit by three silvery moons, it attracts an average of 75 million tourists a year. (A year on Zuliphix XII being 500 days long, and since the week is only three days long, consisting almost entirely of weekends.)

There are only two facts which the planetary Chamber of Commerce leaves out of their full-color glossy brochures: one, that the rainy season is only six days long, but in those six days an average of 74 inches of rain falls steadily; two, the political unrest in the Southern Hemisphere is near the breaking point.

The C of C doesn't like to talk about these two particular facts, mainly because they would discourage the tourist trade. And so the brochures are inaccurate, but no one ever finds out till they arrive.

Hopefully it isn't in the middle of the rainy season. Or a coup attempt."

"Bloody hell." Ford Prefect stared out the window at the rain. Didn't it just have to be bloody raining?

"Still raining, is it?" Arthur Dent, who was reclining on the sofa, asked.

Ford sighed. "Yes, it's still raining. It's been raining since we arrived. What are we supposed to do in the rain?"

"Stay in the hotel? It's quite nice."

"Yes, well, I'm a little tired of staying in the hotel!" Ford got up and began pacing about the room. The cleaning robot followed him, in case he dropped any crumbs or anything. "Figures we'd arrive in the middle of the rainy season."

"It's only six days long," Arthur pointed out helpfully. "The man at the front desk told me."

"Which leaves us half a day to actually enjoy ourselves! Not much of a holiday, is it?"

"It's not bad," said Arthur, who was determined to make the best of it no matter what. "They're having _jag'reth_ in the lobby in an hour. That's some sort of game, I gather."

"Rather like shuffleboard," Ford said. "Dead boring, really. The only real attraction is seeing who turns up to watch."

"Oh." Arthur shifted position on the sofa and wished the room had a television. Apparently the main religion on Zuliphix XII had some sort of prohibition against visual images of living beings. "Well, maybe I'll do some reading, then." He rummaged around in his travel bag and found Oolon Colluphid's latest bestseller _God is Dead and I'm Feeling a Bit Poorly Myself._

Ford just watched the rain.

After a while, he realized he was humming something. A moment later, he recognized the tune as a piece of Earth music entitled "Singing in the Rain". He hadn't even known he knew that song.

"Sorry," he said to Arthur.

"Hmm?" Arthur looked up from his book. "Sorry? What for?"

"Oh, I was humming. Thought it might be bothering you."

"No, I didn't notice, actually. It's fine."

"I wouldn't want to disturb your reading."

"I'm fine, really. You can hum if you like."

"You're sure I'm not disturbing you?"

"Well, **now** you're starting to," Arthur grumbled.

There was an uncomfortable silence. It had only been two days and already they were starting to get on each other's nerves. That had to be some kind of record.

Finally Ford said, "Er, you want to pop in next door and see how they're getting on?"

"No!" Arthur said, a bit too loudly. "I mean, no, I'll just stay here and read my book. It's supposed to be quite good."

The truth was that Arthur and Zaphod had never quite managed to hit it off: Arthur thought Zaphod was obnoxious, and had never forgiven him for stealing the one girl Arthur had found interesting; Zaphod found Arthur hopelessly thick and also thought the Earthman **really **needed to learn to relax. Consequently, they always found excuses to spend as little time together as possible. They didn't actually hate each other; they just didn't get along too well.

"I'll say hi for you, then," Ford said. "Maybe later we'll all go to the lobby and look at the _baragleebin_ plants."

"The what?"

"The pink palm tree-looking things. You remember, I pointed them out to you."

"Oh, those." The hotel was, in fact, called the Baragleebin, and the neon-colored fronds were everywhere you looked, even on the hotel stationery. "How long can anyone look at pink trees?"

"I don't suppose it's time for lunch yet?"

Arthur looked at his watch, which had had to be reset to the Zuliphixian 28-hour day. "Half past _groo_. They don't start serving lunch till after _frex_. So we'll meet up in an hour and go eat somewhere."

"Right. Enjoy your book." Ford, checking that he had his room key, closed the door behind him.

"Trillian, you can't blame me for rotten weather!"

In the suite next door, Trillian, a.k.a. Tricia McMillan, was at her wits' end. "This was all **your** idea, Zaphod! You talked me into taking a holiday here! 'White sandy beaches, lovely gardens, walks in the moonlight . . .' We haven't been outside since we got here!"

"No one told me it was the rainy season!"

"Because you never asked!" Trillian felt like strangling Zaphod, and would have, if she'd had four arms. If he was pretending to be stupid, as he sometimes did, it wasn't funny. If he was truly that stupid, he was going to get everybody killed before long.

"Knock knock," Ford said, entering the room. (Zaphod never locked his doors—which made for some embarrassing moments when he was getting dressed.)

Zaphod and Trillian looked up. "Oh, hi, Ford," said Trillian.

"Anyone fancy a drink?" Drinks were always a good way to kill a few hours when one couldn't venture out-of-doors; in fact, the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster had been invented during a particularly rainy month on Betelgeuse V, when Zaphod had been told by two of his mothers to do something, **anything,** but please stop bothering them!

"Yeah, I could go for a few drinks," Zaphod said. "Just don't let me get too crazy this time, okay? My heads are still hurting from our last big night out."

"You mean last Tuesday?" Trillian said.

Whatever Zaphod meant to reply was lost in the sound of an erupting klaxon alarm. "Oh, Zarquon, what now?"

"I think it's a fire alarm," Ford said. "We'd better get outside. Grab a towel."  
"Towel?"

"Towels are very important. Come on!"

They met Arthur out on the front walk. "What's going on?" he asked, still clutching his book.

"I think it's a drill," Zaphod said, though he wasn't entirely sure himself.

"Yeah, they have them all the time in the dry season," Ford informed them.

"But this is the rainy season! Are there fires in the—"

There must have been a fire somewhere, because at that moment the hotel blew up.

Part of it did, anyway.

Zuliphix XII is notorious for its history of violent behavior, going all the way back to the first life forms that competed for food and shelter. Much like the planet Earth, Zuliphix XII has had an endless series of cataclysmic wars that never seem to really end, only pause for a moment. Most of these wars happen at a considerable distance from the tourist areas, but this time, no such niceties were being observed. Both sides in the latest war had large-scale weapons and they weren't afraid to use them, even in populated areas.

Zaphod flinched as a burst of laser fire came far too close. "The rain doesn't seem so bad now, does it?"

"Oh, very funny!" Ford said. "I don't know about you, but I think now might be a good time to get the Zark out of here!"

"But we've paid through the end of the week!" protested Arthur.

"That's the **least** of our worries right now!" Ford said, searching through his satchel for the communicator that kept him in touch with the _Heart of Gold_. "Here, hold my towel, will you?" he said, handing Arthur a pink-and-gold bath towel with the hotel's name on it.

"Did you steal this?" Arthur asked, but Ford ignored him and contacted Eddie, the _Heart of Gold_'s computer.

"Eddie, we need a lift out of here, fast!"

"Sure thing, fella! I'm on my way now!" Eddie answered jovially. "Did I hear something about a civil war? Can I watch?"

"Not from the middle of it!" Arthur spluttered. He draped Ford's towel over his head as a tidal wave of smoke from the now-collapsing hotel washed over the group. There was a lot of gasping and coughing.

When the smoke finally cleared, the _Heart of Gold_ was landing in front of them.

"That," Arthur declared, as soon as they were safely on board, "was the worst holiday I have ever had! And that's counting the one I spent with my head in the toilet."

"Head in the toilet?" Zaphod asked. "Really drunk, were you?"

"No, I didn't have time! While everyone else was off getting drunk I ordered the seafood surprise and spent the rest of the week wishing I hadn't."

"Worse than that planet where we were chased by carnivorous plant-men?"Ford asked.

"Much worse. They weren't shooting at us!"

"Well, we're safe now," Trillian said. "We can finish out the week somewhere else. Computer?"

"Hi there! What can I do for you today?"

In a corner, Marvin was moaning to anyone who'd listen (or even if they didn't; he'd understand if no one wanted to listen to him. Here he was, brain the size of a planet. . . ), "I could have told you, you know. About the rain and the political climate, and all of that. No one ever asks my opinion. Didn't even let me come along. I suppose you thought I'd bore you."

"Marvin, what are you on about now?" Zaphod asked.

"Oh, nothing," the robot intoned. "Just the fact that no one ever listens to me."

"Huh?" said Ford. "What'd you say? I wasn't listening."

Marvin heaved a big electronic sigh. "Oh, why do I bother?"

"Best place to eat locally?" Eddie said, in response to Trillian's query. "Sure, let me look that up for you! Only take a minute!"

Actually, it only took Eddie forty-eight seconds to come up with the name of a bar just a few dozen light-years away: the Pink Diamond Cocktail Lounge on Vadeegallum VI.

"Sounds good to me," said Zaphod. "We're off, then."

"How's the food?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, it's fantastic!" Eddie asserted, not knowing that some of the food's ingredients were incompatible with the human digestive system, and could possibly even be fatal. To be fair, he didn't know this because up till now no Earth people had ever eaten at the Pink Diamond Lounge.

Arthur Dent's terrible holiday was about to get worse.


	2. Cuisine Interrupted

_A/N: I've just noticed this is my 42nd story on this site. Make of that what you will. Anyway, please review, even if you hate the story—I can take it! Thanks to those who have reviewed already. Here's a cookie for you!  
_

"Bring me three of whatever's most alcoholic," Zaphod said. Arthur stared at him in shock.

"**Three **Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters? Are you trying to kill yourself? That much alcohol in your bloodstream will turn your brains to spaghetti!"

"That's what I'm counting on, kid," Zaphod said, grinning widely. "We're on holiday—let's get good and ratted!"

"Ford, tell him he's being ridiculous!"

"I'll have one to start with," Ford told the waiter.

Arthur threw up his hands. "What is with you bunch of alcoholics? Can't you for once keep your wits about you?"

"What's the point?"

"I'll have a mineral water," Trillian said. "If someone has to be sensible, it might as well be me."

"I don't suppose you have any tea?" Arthur asked.

They didn't. He ended up with a greenish beer that tasted faintly of tree sap. Arthur was never much of a drinker, but this wasn't much of a drink.

As for Marvin, he was standing outside in the car park, where Zaphod had told him to keep an eye on the ship. And he did—he watched very closely as some official-looking men clamped it for parking in a red "NO PARKING" zone. After all, they hadn't said to **do **anything, and there didn't seem much point. At least now the _Heart of Gold_ wouldn't get stolen.

When the food came, Arthur noticed that it reminded him uncannily (and frighteningly) of the Vogons: green, blobby, and altogether unpleasant.

"Ford," he asked, "is it safe for me to eat this? It looks a bit . . . off."

"It's fine," Ford reassured him. "It's a local delicacy. People travel for thousands of light-years to have a taste of it."

"It doesn't look very appetizing."  
"So eat with your eyes closed. Honestly, you're going to have to learn not to be so picky. Some races are actually insulted if you tell them you don't like their cooking."

"Even if it's gone off?"  
"It has not gone off!"

"Mine seems all right," Trillian said. She and Zaphod had already started.

Arthur peered at her plate. "You don't seem to have the same, er, entree."

"I ordered the diet plate."

"Do you suppose I could send this back and get that instead?"

"Oh, will you relax?" Ford said. "We're supposed to be on holiday! Can't you at least try to enjoy yourself?"

"I suppose," Arthur shrugged. He gave the dodgy-looking food a try.

_The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy _describes the Pink Diamond Cocktail Lounge as "a great place for a drink or ten. On weeknights they have live entertainment in the main lounge, and most of the time it is fairly good. However, stay away from the food as it has been known to be toxic to some life forms."

It is unfortunate for Arthur Dent that no one saw this particular bit of information until much later, and by then, they were more concerned with being shot at.

It was just as they were about to order dessert that they noticed the party of large, four-armed creatures glaring at them from over by the bar.

"Do you know them, Zaphod?" Ford asked.

Zaphod had gone suddenly pale and was trying not to look in their direction, but his left head was sneaking looks out of the corner of his eye. "No," he said, in an oddly choked voice, "no, I don't. Let's settle up and get out, shall we?"

"What, not even a coffee?" Arthur asked.

The tallest of the four-armed beings unslung a blaster from a holster around his hips and began firing at them.

"Then again, coffee can wait."

Chairs were shoved backwards, coats were hastily snatched off (or out from under) the chairs. Zaphod threw a suitably large number of bills onto the table and led the whole party out the emergency exit. The four-armed aliens followed them, firing over their heads.

"Where'd we leave the ship?" Zaphod was looking around in all directions. The car park was suddenly and hurriedly emptying itself.

Ford slapped his forehead. "In the red zone. Exactly where I told you not to leave it."

They dodged an escaping diner running for his vehicle, ducked behind another large transport, and spotted the _Heart of Gold_, parked in the illegal zone. A huge yellow clamp was fixed around one of the landing legs.

"What do we do now?" Arthur demanded.

"Ask the attendant to unclamp us," said Marvin.

Zaphod was livid. "Marvin, I told you to watch the ship!"

"I did," Marvin said. "I watched the whole time they were clamping it. I would have given them directions, but there didn't seem much point."

"Why didn't you tell them to stop?"

"You never said to do anything but watch."

The four-armed shooters were getting closer. "All right, all right, we'll go ask them to unclamp it!" Ford spluttered.

The group took refuge behind a stretch limo, then sprinted for the kiosk on the far side of the car park. "I don't suppose now would be a good time to ask what my share of the bill came to?" Arthur asked.

"I never actually saw the bill—not that it matters now." Zaphod ducked as a laser blast passed within a centimeter of his left left ear. "If they need more money, they can come and find me. If we get out of this alive, that is."

As they finally reached the attendant's booth, the sign flipped from OPEN to CLOSED. "Great! Just bloody great!"

"How can they be closed? It's only three in the afternoon." Arthur went up and tapped on the glass. "Hello, are you in there?"

"We're closed," said a female voice. "Come back tomorrow at nine."

"TOMORROW WE MAY BE DEAD!" Zaphod shouted.

The shade went up. The occupant of the booth, a shortish, thickish, humanoid female, gave Zaphod a look that could have killed the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal. "You tell me why that's **my **problem."

"Well," Arthur said, "it's like this. There are these huge four-armed monsters chasing us and shooting at us, and we don't know why. And we can't get away from them because our ship's clamped. Can you help us?"

She peered closely at him. Arthur took in her shapeless green cardigan, oversized round glasses, severely pulled-back hair, and sensible shoes. She reminded him of a younger version of his Aunt Clara. He just knew that if she opened the door of the booth, he'd get hit in the face with a wall of lilac perfume. It always made him sneeze. And sneeze, and sneeze . . . .

"Look, um," Zaphod looked at her name tag, which said KALITHA Z'Z'ABRGHIZIGAM, "look, Kaleetha—"

She sighed through her nose. "It's actually pronouced CALL-ih-tah. Everyone gets it wrong.(1)"

"Sorry. Listen, babe . . ." Zaphod ducked a barrage of laser fire. "We could use your help getting out of here a **whole **lot. Now be a nice girl and give us a hand, what?"

She opened the door. Arthur sneezed. And sneezed, and sneezed . . . .

"Are you all right?" Trillian asked him.

Arthur took stock. "No," he said. "I've got a bit of a headache, but it's probably just the excitement."

"I think I have something for that," Kalitha said, reaching into a drawer.

"WE DON'T HAVE TIME!" Zaphod was as close to panic as anyone had ever seen him. "JUST UNCLAMP THE ZARKING SHIP AND GET US OUT OF HERE!"

Kalitha blinked at him; behind the glasses, her eyes were a brilliant violet. "I'm off duty."

Zaphod smacked the side of the booth and uttered a few obscure Betelgeusian curses.

"Can't you do something?" shouted Ford. "Those . . . whatevers . . . are shooting at us!"

"Well . . ." she said, infuriatingly slowly, "I could—if I wasn't off duty."

"Don't you care that they're going to kill us, you cow?" Zaphod screamed.

"Personally, I think you deserve it."

"What? Don't you know who I am?"

"Yes," she said, with a maddening grin. "That's why I think you deserve it."

"Oh, for Zark's sake!" said Ford.

Arthur had a thought. "Did you," he asked Kalitha, "actually clock off yet?"

"What? Oh . . . no, I don't think so."

"Then you're not actually off duty yet. And we'd be very grateful if you could help us,"Arthur finished. Damn, now his stomach was starting to act up too. He'd known that food had been off. Ha, he thought, told you so.

Kalitha stared at him, puzzled, while the four-armed aliens tested the laser-proofing of the booth. So far, it was holding, but for how long?

Finally she said, "Oh, sod it," grabbed a set of keys off a peg, and left the safety of the booth for a very unsafe future.

It took no time at all to unclamp the _Heart of Gold_. "Everybody inside!" said Zaphod, once the hatch had opened.

"Does that include me?" said Marvin.

Tempting though it was, Zaphod couldn't leave the Paranoid Android behind. "Yes, it includes you, Marvin! Now get inside before something happens to you!"

"You don't really care about me. No one does."

"Yes, we do! Get in there!"

Marvin lumbered into the ship as if he were auditioning for a role as a stuntman in a Godzilla movie. Once everyone was inside, the _Heart of Gold_ hastily took off from the car park, leaving behind a handful of frustrated four-armed aliens who shook multiple fists at the departing ship, before remembering that they had their own.

It was after they had left the planet that Arthur and his friends began to **really** have problems.

One of which was the mysterious appearance of another ship, which then started shooting at them. There was no call-sign ID, but it was safe to assume that it was their four-armed pursuers.

Another problem was making itself known inside Arthur's own body. He was really, really not feeling well now. His stomach was doing loop-the-loops at about a mile a minute, and he was starting to feel dizzy as well.

He was about to say something to that effect when the enemy ship started firing.

"Oh, damndamndamndamndamn . . ."

"Get us out of here!" Zaphod pleaded with Eddie.

"Will do!" Eddie plotted out a course that should have enabled the _Heart of Gold _to escape their pursuers; however, the four-armed aliens clung to them for several hundred light-years before finally falling behind and disappearing.

"Well, thank you, Eddie, for finally doing something right," Zaphod said. "That last burst of speed really did the trick."

"Dirty trick," said Ford, who was picking himself up from the floor. "Everyone all right?"

"I'm fine," said Trillian, brushing herself off.  
"Me too," said Kalitha.

"We don't care about you," Zaphod snapped at her.

"Yeah, you wouldn't," she countered. "You don't care about anyone but yourself!"

"I don't suppose anyone cares about me either," said Marvin.

That left one member of the party still unaccounted for. "Arthur?" Ford called out.

There was a groan from behind a console. Ford went over and gave him a hand up.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I don't think so," Arthur said. "I think . . ."

Suddenly he collapsed into Ford's arms.

Zaphod looked puzzled. "That wasn't supposed to happen, was it?"

"I don't think so," said Trillian.

(1)Oddly enough, no one had ever mispronounced her surname. This was largely because not many beings with less than four mouths ever attempted to pronounce it in the first place.


	3. The Bunnies!

When Arthur awoke, he found himself lying on a metal table. "What . . . what's going on?"

He tried to sit up, but Trillian held him down. "No, just lie still right now."

"I can't, I'm in pain!"

"Try not to think about it," Ford suggested.

Arthur glared at him. "Have you ever tried **not** to think about something? It's all you can think about!"

"Just relax and let the medi-scanner do its job," Trillian said.

"Medi-what?" Arthur looked up. "That thing? It looks like some kind of torture device!"

"I wouldn't be surprised if it were," Marvin droned.

"Can it, Marvin!" Zaphod snapped.

"Why do I suddenly get the feeling that I'm dying?" asked Arthur.

"Oh, relax! You're probably not dying."

"**Probably? PROBABLY**?"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist!"

"Why not? I'm only **probably **going to live! And my head feels like it's about to explode! And I'm suddenly freezing! Why is it so cold in here?"  
"It's not," Trillian said. "Your illness seems to be affecting your perception of the environment."

"What?"

"You've got a fever," Ford explained.

"Oh. Why didn't you just say?"

"I thought I did," said Trillian.

Kalitha looked concerned. "He doesn't look good, does he?"

"I still don't understand what you're doing here," Zaphod said, glaring at her.

"You're the one who said 'Everybody into the ship!'"

"I didn't mean **you**!"

"What was I supposed to do, stand there and get shot?"

"That would have done for a start!"

"Is something going on between you two?" Arthur asked.

"How can anything be going on when I've never even met her?"

"Liar," said Kalitha.

"Hey, if I'd met you, I'd remember!"

"You **do **remember. You have to. You just don't want to admit it."

"Will you stop telling me what I know? Which, by the way, I don't?"

"How can anyone be so stupid?"

"Okay, that's enough!" Trillian said. "Both of you go to separate corners and cool down. Marvin, keep an eye on them."

"I won't enjoy it," the Paranoid Android said.

"Yes, you will. Now, go on, both of you. If you keep acting like children, you'll be treated as such. Take a time-out."

Zaphod and Kalitha gave each other dirty looks before retreating to opposite corners of the room. That problem solved, Trillian turned her attention back to Arthur . . . who was now vomiting on her shoes.

"Oh, God!"

"Sorry," Arthur groaned. "I couldn't help it . . ."

"Let's get that scan done, shall we?" She could clean up the mess later. Fortunately the shoes were wash-and-wear; no real harm done.

It took several minutes for the results to come back, and by that time Arthur was breaking out in a cold sweat, and muttering something under his breath that sounded like "bunnies".

"Arthur, are you still with us?" Ford asked.

"The bunnies! Don't let the bunnies get me!"

"We won't. You're safe here."

"Is he all right?" Trillian asked.

"I think he just dozed off. Give him a few minutes. Let's see what the scan's come up with." Ford took the readout and looked it over. What he saw wasn't very encouraging.

"What?" Kalitha asked, leaving her corner. "Is he dying?"

"No," Ford said. "Not quite."

"What's wrong with him?" Zaphod wanted to know. "It's not contagious, is it?"

"No, of course not. It's all my fault; I should never have told him the food was perfectly safe . . ."

"Hang on," said Kalitha. "What food? Where did you eat?"

"The Pink Diamond Cocktail Lounge. We had the fish special. Except for Trillian, who had—"

"You **ate **at the Pink Diamond?" Kalitha looked stunned.

"Yes, the Guide gave it four stars."

"Four stars for the drinks, maybe. The food's terrible. It's no wonder he got sick."

"Well, thank you so much for telling us four hours **after **the fact!" Zaphod shouted at her. "That's really helpful, that is!"

"Anyone could have told you! All you had to do was look around! Nobody local goes there before eight!"

"We couldn't wait that long!" Zaphod spluttered.

Trillian couldn't take any more. "Will you both stop bickering for two seconds and give me a hand?" she screamed.

There was a moment of stunned silence, then Ford and Marvin helped Trillian lift Arthur off the table and carry him to his room. This left Zaphod and Kalitha alone, but that couldn't be helped.

"Wonder what her problem is?" said Zaphod, who wasn't used to Trillian shouting.

"Gee, I wonder," Kalitha said sarcastically.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You figure it out!"

"You know, forget her, what's **your **problem? You've been all over me since we first met! What did I ever do to you?"

"Oh, don't play games with me!" Kalitha snapped. "You know perfectly well what you did to me!"

"If I knew, I wouldn't ask, would I?"

"You might just be **pretending** to be stupid."

"Or I might **really **not know what you're talking about."

"I doubt that."

"Doubt it all you want, it's the truth."

"Why should I believe a man who lied his way into the highest public office in the galaxy?" Kalitha sighed through her nose and stood up. "When you decide to stop being an idiot, I'll be in my room."

"Fine! I'll be at the other end of the ship!" Zaphod stalked off to the main control cabin, which wasn't quite at the end of the ship but was far enough for him. "Eddie," he said.

"Hi there! What can I do for you this fine—"

"Turn us around, will you? We're taking that annoying cow home."

Meanwhile, Ford had found something useful in the medical supplies. Unless it was in the wrong bottle (Zaphod had a habit of dumping out any bottle he found lying around and refilling it with liquor), it should do the trick. Now to find a spoon . . .

"Attention all hands!" Eddie said over the ship's PA system. "We're about to make a mid-course correction, so you might want to grab something to keep yourself steady till we return to normal space!"

"We're doing what?" Ford said to thin air. He hadn't found a spoon, but he did find another type of medicine to help with Arthur's headaches. He grabbed that up as well.

Arthur was dozing when Ford came in and nudged him awake. As it turned out, he needn't have bothered; the ship suddenly banked sharply to the left, causing everything in the room that wasn't nailed down (this, unfortunately, included Arthur and Ford) to fall onto the floor. Only the quickest of motions saved both medicine bottles.

"What's going on?" Ford demanded.

Eddie's voice piped up. "We're turning round and heading back the way we came!"

**"Why?"**

"How should I know? I just do what I'm told, fella! And I'm happy to do it! Would you like a little light music?"

"No, we would **not **like a little light music! Just don't do that again, okay?"

"Whatever you say!"

Ford gave Arthur both medicines at once, ignoring the warning labels on the bottles which, if he had bothered to read them, would have told him in no uncertain terms not to do that. He was about to leave the room when a blast of noise assaulted his ears.

"I'd hardly call that light music!" he shouted at the ceiling.

"That wasn't me!" said Eddie.

"Well, where's it coming from?"

A curious expression came over Arthur's face. "Hey, I know this song! That's Spinal Tap! Ford, that's Spinal Tap! From Earth! How can that be **here**?"

"I know how," said Ford. "I'll be right back."

He followed the music to a locked cabin door. "Zaphod! Have you been in my satchel?"

"What?"

"Turn the music down!"

**"What?"**

**"What?"**

Kalitha was covering her ears. "Does anyone know why we've suddenly turned round—what is that noise?"

**"NOISE?" **Zaphod was indignant. "You have the nerve to call the greatest band since Disaster Area noise?"

"YES! Now turn it off before I pull off all four of your ears!"

"What? Turn it **up**?" Zaphod shouted, pretending he hadn't heard her properly, when she knew damn well he had. She glared at him as he slammed the door and the volume of the music increased. The ship actually began to shake from the vibrations of the overtaxed sound system.

And it was at that precise moment that the ship carrying the four-armed aliens caught up with the _Heart of Gold_.

"Uh, guys . . . ." Eddie said nervously.

Nobody heard him over the din of the Spinal Tap cassette, so Arthur hauled himself out of bed and stumbled out into the corridor to find out what the hell was going on.

He sat in a chair and took deep breaths to clear his head and help get his stomach back under control. It didn't work; he only felt worse. The sight of a massive warship on the view screen only added to his troubles.

Trillian came in, saw him slumped in the chair, and said, "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep with that racket going on, so I thought as long as I was awake anyway I might as well have a look around."

"I don't think you—"

Trillian was cut off midsentence by the KA-BOOM! of laser fire hitting the ship. That brought the rest of the crew running.

"Are we under attack?" Ford asked.

"Well, guys," said Eddie, "seems our four-armed mates have caught up with us, and this time they won't take no for an answer."

"Get us out of here!" Zaphod demanded.

"They want to talk to us."

"Well, that's a good sign," said Trillian. "Let's talk to them."

"Let's not," said Zaphod, looking considerably flustered. "I, ah . . . I have something important to do in another part of the ship."

"I thought you were in charge here!" Arthur said. He was awfully confused, which wasn't anything new.

"Putting them through," said Eddie. For once, he didn't sound happy about it.

A booming voice demanded, "We want to speak to the one called Arthur Dent."

The entire room swiveled in Arthur's direction.

Arthur wasn't sure what to say. Of all the bad days he'd ever had in his life—including the terrible Thursday when the Earth had been demolished—this one just took the frosted biscuit.


	4. What Else Could Go Wrong?

"Me? They want me?" Arthur gaped in astonishment.

"You see another Arthur Dent around here?" Zaphod rolled all four of his eyes.

"I don't even know them! What could they possibly want with me?"

No one answered. They were all staring at Arthur with growing horror. "What?" he asked.

Trillian rummaged through her purse until she found a small compact mirror. "Here," she said. "You'd better look for yourself."

Arthur did so. His face had gone green.

Bright green.

The green of grass, or at least of grass on Earth.

"He's going to die," said Marvin.

"No, he's not!" Trillian insisted. "At least, not for a long time, I hope."

"You **hope**?" Arthur was not reassured by this.

Ford remembered what he'd done with the medicine and retrieved both bottles, then had a good look at the warning labels. "Oh, Zarquon. What have I done?"

Arthur found this even less reassuring.

Meanwhile, the four-armed aliens were still hanging on the line, and they were getting a bit impatient. "Where," their leader demanded, "is the one called Dent?"

"He's . . . indisposed right now," Ford said. "Can I take a message?"

"Excuse me," Trillian said. "We haven't been properly introduced. What is your race-name?"

"That is not important!"

"I rather think it is."

"We demand to speak to the one called Dent, in whatever condition he may be! You have fifteen _greblocks_ to produce him!"

And suddenly the screen went dark.

"What's a _greblock_?" Arthur asked.

Ford looked it up. "It's a measure of time approximately equal to the Earth minute."

"Oh, wonderful. D'you think they want me fried, boiled, or fricasseed?"

Zaphod was strangely silent all this time. In fact, he seemed to be doing everything he could to make himself scarce, though he could hardly be inconspicuous in his current outfit.

"Zaphod?" said Trillian.

"You don't need me here for this, do you, babe? I'll be in my cabin practicing my acceptance speech for the Frood of the Year award."

Trillian looked at Arthur. Something was up.

Ford, meanwhile, was checking the _Guide_. "Here it is. I cross-referenced '_greblocks_' with 'four arms' and found it. They're called Zubranites. Here, listen for yourselves." He pressed a button and the _Guide_ spoke.

_"Zubranites.__ As a species, the Zubranites are the most belligerant race in the galaxy. It is rumored that one of their most destructive wars began when someone looked at their king in a funny way, though as no one survived said war, no actual documentation exists. This war was so long and widespread that in the end, the Galactic Tribunal banned all Zubranites from possessing any weapon larger than a pea shooter. However, the Zubranites, being the right bastards that they were, hijacked a Krelinian warship and used it to terrorize not only the Council but anyone else who got in their way. In brief: avoid."_

"Well, that's very helpful," Arthur said. "Does it say how to avoid being killed by them?

"Don't be there in the first place," said Ford.

"I think it's a little late for that."

"How are we for time?" Trillian asked.

"Still got eight _greblocks _left, folks!" Eddie announced. "If I can help in any way, please let me know!"

"Actually, Eddie, there is something you can do for us," Ford said. "Find out what they want—"

"You mean besides me?" Arthur spluttered.

"Where's Zaphod got to?" Trillian wondered. "He usually likes to be in the middle of things."

"Not things like this, I'm guessing," said Ford.

Trillian pressed the button for the ship-wide PA system. "Zaphod, where are you?"

There was no immediate answer.

"Zaphod, we need you. You're the only one who can negotiate with the Zubranites—"

"What?" said Arthur. Trillian motioned for him to be quiet.

"I'm a little busy right now, babe," the eventual answer came. "Tell them I'll be right there, and open up the bar. Get 'em drunk and they'll agree to anything."

"What do Zubranites drink?"

"Oh, just put everything out and let them choose. Bye!"

Trillian, shaking her head, opened up the bar and lined up bottles of variously colored liquids while Ford and Arthur waited for the Zubranites to contact them again.

"They're probably going to blow us up first and ask questions later," Marvin lamented.

"Message coming through!" Eddie announced.

Ford, Arthur and Marvin watched as the lead Zubranite's face darkened. "Where is Arthur Dent?"

"What? He's right—" Ford began, but Trillian shushed him.

"He'll be along shortly. In the meantime, would you like to come over and have a drink?"

The Zubranite considered this. "How do we know there will be no deception? Dent has already betrayed us once."

"I have?" Arthur was completely baffled by this turn of events. He'd never even met these—whatever they were—before in his life. What could he have possibly done to upset them?

"Ssh!" said Trillian. "I think I'm getting somewhere with them. Just let me try and talk to them a little more, okay?"

"I don't think it's going to help!"

"We won't know till we try. What's the worst that could happen?"

"They could destroy the ship?" said Ford.

"You're not helping," Trillian said. "Go and fetch Zaphod while I keep them busy."

"I think I need to lie down for a while," Arthur groaned.

"Fine, you do that. I can handle this myself."

The Zubranite leader had no idea what was going on. Where was Arthur Dent? Who was this strange green creature? Why were these beings offering him drinks instead of cowering in fear? He was completely off the star map on this one.

He turned to his first officer. "What do we do now?" he whispered.

"Sir, our transport ray is trained on their ship. We can kidnap one of the other crew—the green one, perhaps—and offer a trade: Dent for this one."

"What if they attack us instead?"

"With that little thing?" The first officer regarded the other ship with scorn.

"Hold off on the kidnapping for now. Perhaps they will see reason and turn over Dent without too much persuasion. Or perhaps I will simply get them drunk."

In the _Heart of Gold_'s sickbay, Arthur was trying to sleep, but he felt too hot and uncomfortable to get any proper rest. He browsed through his copy of the _Guide_, wondering if it had a chapter on "What to do if you are at the mercy of a Zubranite warship."

It did. The advice it offered was "Pray."

_Oh, thanks a lot, that's very helpful,_ Arthur thought grumpily. He read a few pages further, but there wasn't anything else that would be useful in a dangerous situation. He lay back and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was staring at a fire engine. A fire engine like the ones on his bedroom wallpaper . . .

It took him a moment to realize he _was_ looking at his own bedroom wallpaper. He was getting a bit old for it now, he thought; almost seventeen and his mum still treated him like a baby. He'd have to talk with Dad about getting the room done over.

Arthur got out of bed and walked down the stairs, being careful to step over the worn place in the carpet where he kept slipping, and found his mother in the kitchen.

"Oh!" she said. "You're up early, dear. Sit down and I'll make your breakfast."

He sat. Something felt wrong with this, but he couldn't say what.

"I won't be here when you get home," Mum was saying, as she made the tea. "I have a meeting in the morning, a tennis lesson in the afternoon, and then I'm going shopping with Aunt Janey. Tell Dad I'll be home by eight. There's a casserole in the freezer you two can reheat—"

"Are you coming?" a man's voice called out. It wasn't Arthur's dad.

_Ford! _Arthur thought, and then wondered who Ford was. He had the strange feeling that this was someone he shouldn't know yet. He got out of bed (_Wait a second, wasn't I just in the kitchen?_) and looked out the window. Sure enough, there was a man standing just outside the door.

Arthur's mum came running out to greet this familiar stranger with a big kiss. "You were supposed to meet me here an hour ago, you silly thing!"

Arthur's brain couldn't cope with what he was seeing. "I don't believe it. Ford . . . and my mum . . . I thought they didn't get on . . ." He had a vague memory of a Christmas party that had ended badly, but that hadn't happened yet, had it?

He jumped out of bed (_What, again?_) and fell through the floor.

_This is just like _Alice in Wonderland, he thought as he fell past the wardrobe in the spare room, through that floor and into the dining room, through the dining table and on through to the cellar. _Hang on, how am I still alive?_

Someone was calling him from a great distance. "Arthur? Arthur! Arthur, what are you doing on the floor?"

He opened his eyes, slowly. He had fallen out of bed and was lying with his face pressed into the floor, which was very cold. Trillian helped him up.

"We have a problem," she said.

"What, apart from the huge alien warship about to destroy us?"

"They're not going to destroy us. I convinced them to come over and have a drink while we talk it out."

"You **what?**** How?"**

"Long story. Never mind that now. I need you to come help me find Zaphod."

"What, he's missing? Maybe the aliens took a hostage!"

She gave him her long-suffering look. "Nobody's taking hostages."

"Is the hostage secure?" the Zubranite second-in-command asked.

The duty officer nodded. "All ready for a spot of torture."

"Drinks," the second-in-command scoffed. "I told him it was a bad idea, but he went anyway. He won't find out about this, will he?"

"Absolutely not."

"Excellent." The alien officer went off to torture his prisoner.

It says something about the size of a Krelinian warship that those aboard it regarded such a ship as the magnificent, state-of-the-art, and very expensive _Heart of Gold _as a "little thing."


	5. Unwanted Guests

5. Unwanted Guests

Our story thus far:

Arthur Dent and his friends thought they would enjoy a peaceful, relaxing holiday on the tranquil ocean world of Zuliphix XII, but they arrived in the middle of the planet's six-day-long rainy season. As if that weren't enough, a nasty civil war broke out, from which they were barely able to escape with their lives.

They went off to have a bite to eat, but before they could even get through the drinks, a party of very large and nasty-looking aliens started shooting at them, and they were forced to leave in a hurry, and without paying, which has made the management somewhat upset. (1)

They traveled an ungodly amount of light-years in the wrong direction before the aliens caught them up and demanded that they turn over the person known as Arthur Dent. That they made these demands while Arthur was in fact standing in front of them, suggests that they may have the wrong person. Coincidentally, Zaphod has not been seen since.

Before his disappearance, Zaphod suggested that they invite the alien captain over for drinks. The _Heart of Gold _is about to host the nastiest aliens this side of the Vogons. (2)

As if matters weren't bad enough, Arthur is very ill from food poisoning, and Trillian is beginning to get the idea that she's forgetting something . . . but she's not sure what it is.

4242424242424242424242

Arthur might not have been in the best of physical shape right now, but even he knew it wasn't a good idea to let the Zubranites have the run of the ship. "We should post a guard, or something," he suggested to Trillian.

"Good idea. Oh, Marvin!"

Marvin heaved a mechanical sigh. "It's always the way. When something dangerous needs doing, who always gets called upon? It's not like you lot care about me . . ."

"Don't be ridiculous, Marvin," Trillian said. "Of course we care about you. Now I need you to go up to the bridge and keep the Zubranites entertained while we go and see where Zaphod's hiding. Can you do that?"

"Entertain them? I'm too depressed to entertain anyone right now," Marvin moaned.

"Well, just do your best."

Marvin trudged off to guard the bridge while Arthur and Trillian went to find Ford, who had gone to have a little lie-down in his cabin. "Could someone make the room stop bouncing?" Ford pleaded of his visitors when they came in. "It's wreaking havoc on my equilibrium."

"The room's not—" That was as far as Trillian got before Ford started coughing. This wasn't a good sign.

Arthur blinked as he saw the purple spots breaking out on Ford's face. "What's that?" A perfectly natural question to ask under the circumstances, but one that caught Ford by surprise nonetheless.

"What's what?"

"The spots on your face," Arthur said.

"Oh, that. That's just Betelgeusian spotted fever. I've had it on and off since I was eleven. It'll go away on its own."

"How long?" Arthur asked. "A day? A week? A hundred years?"

"Depends on local time values, but on average . . . six weeks or so.:"

"Six weeks?" Arthur was aghast at the prospect of Ford being out of commission that long. If they even survived that long, what with the Zubranites running amok all over the ship.

Ford nodded. "About that. Oh, and it's very contagious. It spreads through the skin . . ."

Trillian and Arthur took a step back from Ford's bedside while keeping nonchalant looks on their faces. "Through the skin, you say?" Arthur asked nervously.

"Yeah. But you can't get it if you've already had it, so if you see Zaphod, send him down here, would you? Otherwise, he'll sneak off to Zark knows where when you're not looking."

"We've been looking for him!" Arthur exclaimed. "It's like he's just disappeared into thin air!"

"He won't have gone far from the drink supply. Try harder."

Arthur was about to say something, but Trillian gave him a look and then said to Ford, "We will. You just stay here and get better."

With that, the two of them left Ford's room and went to see if Zaphod was hiding somewhere, or if he'd completely disappeared. But where could he be?

4242424242424242424242

"You can't keep me here!" Zaphod shouted to empty air.

"Says who?" The Zubranite's disembodied voice echoed off the interrogation room's wall, which was some distance away. Zaphod kicked at the air in a vain effort to free himself from his bonds, but the Zubranites were experts at tying up their prisoners.

"I'm warning you," Zaphod challenged the void, "I'll grab you by the throat and wring your neck so fast it'll make your ugly head spin! I'll vaporize you before you know what hit you! I'll—"

"And how will you do this," the voice asked, "with all three of your arms bound and suspended from the ceiling?"

"I'll find a way!"

"Sure you will. In the meantime, you will return to us what is ours!"

"Yeah, about that . . ." Zaphod didn't know how to tell them that the money he'd borrowed—all right, **stolen**—from them was already long gone.

The Senior Interrogator, also known as Arrggghh! by his prisoners (3), watched Zaphod struggling with a look of pure delight. That'd teach the arrogant bastard! Just because you used to be President of the Galaxy, you think you can push other races around, you slimy piece of _dherr_!

"Sir," his assistant interrupted him. "Our other prisoner has . . ."

The Senior Interrogator turned to him. "Has **what**?"

"Has, um, escaped, sir."

"Well, get it back! It can't have gone far! Have all available personnel search all areas of the ship at once!"

"Sir, the last batch we sent out hasn't returned yet. This prisoner could be very dangerous . . ."

"Dangerous? How dangerous could it be? It hasn't even got weapons!"

"It, um . . . does now, sir."

The Senior Interrogator was so incensed by this that he stormed off, leaving Zaphod on his own . . . and giving him time to come up with a plan. It happened that there was a ventilation duct directly above his heads; now if he could only reach it, he could sneak off to the teleport chamber and get back to the _Heart of Gold_.

To reach it, he'd have to get his hands free, which would be the real trick. His only consolation was that the Zubranites were so incredibly stupid that they'd tied his hands with plain (that is, easily worn through) rope, instead of something a bit more sturdy. He turned his left head and began gnawing the rope, hoping against hope that time would be on his side.

Ford Prefect's plan also involved ventilation ducts. If he could just get to the environmental controls and lower the temperature on the ship, the cold-blooded Zubranites would go into hibernation mode, enabling Arthur and Trillian to send them back where they came from.

He hoped he didn't get lost—he wasn't too sure of the layout of the ship, but it wasn't too terribly big, so if Marvin kept the Zubranites occupied long enough for him to wander around a bit, he was home free.

He dipped a cloth into his bedside glass of water and wiped the fake spots off his face. Betelgeusian spotted fever was a disease which did not in fact actually exist, although Ford was feeling a bit tired and dizzy.

_Must be delirious_, he thought, _if I think I'm going to get away with this._

He removed the grille from the vent, laid it aside, and crawled into the shaft.

Now which way was it again? He tried to recall the schematics of the ship, which he'd glanced at once and then forgotten. _Environmental . . . I think it's down this way._

Some time later (it may have been as much as an hour, he wasn't sure), he finally found the right chamber.

"Ah, good," he said to himself. He dropped down, aiming to land on his feet but missing and making an entirely ungraceful landing on his arse. He slowly got to his feet, black dots swimming in his field of vision. He ignored them.

"Now to give the Zubranites a chill they won't soon forget."

Ford turned the dial all the way to the left, dropping the temperature to the equivalent of 60 degrees Fahrenheit. (Living on Earth for so many years had changed his frame of reference; he now thought in terms of a planet that no longer existed.)

_It's not working_, he thought, even as the temperature readout digits went from 75 to 70, and kept dropping. _It's getting warmer in here. What did I do wrong?_

The thought occurred to him that maybe Marvin could help, and he left in search of the Paranoid Android. He didn't get more than a few feet before the dizziness overtook him and he collapsed in the middle of the corridor, where he wasn't found till quite some time later.

4242424242424242424242

The Zubranite Captain's already ugly mood was getting uglier by the minute. "Enough of this stalling! I want the aliens to show themselves right now?"

"Which aliens would that be?" Marvin asked, not really caring about the answer.

"The aliens hiding Arthur Dent, you mechanical moron!"

"I do have a brain the size of a planet, you know." Marvin thought if anyone was a moron around here, it was the Zubranite captain, who'd used his Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster to polish his armor. It had worn a hole clear through, which hadn't improved his mood any.

"I don't care! Get Dent out here at once!"

Marvin sighed an electronic sigh. "I suppose I could do that for you, if I wasn't on guard duty. I can't leave you alone on the bridge."

"Why not?"

"I have orders."

"Well, **I'm **ordering you to produce Arthur Dent within the next five _greblocks_, or I'll start shooting something!"

"Sir," his bodyguard said, "if you do that the laser fire could rebound off the wall and—"

"SILENCE!"

Marvin sighed again. "I'll go and get him." He clanked off, through a door which was too terrified of the Zubranites to express its pleasure at opening or its satisfaction at a job well done, and went to find Arthur Dent.

Arthur and Trillian were on their way back to the Medical Bay when they rounded a corner and Arthur saw the most hideous creature he'd ever seen (4) crouched at the far end.

It was an enormous rabbit.

Not a cute and cuddly rabbit, either; this one had huge red eyes and slavering fangs that looked as long as his arm.

It had finally happened. The bunnies had come to get him.

"Arthur," Trillian said, "what's wrong?"

Arthur couldn't speak for a moment. Then he hissed through clenched teeth, "Don't you see it?"

"See what?" She looked in the direction in which his eyes were staring fixedly, but there was nothing there.

"See what? It's right there! It's a—"

It started to hop towards him.

"**RUN!"** He grabbed Trillian by the arm and sprinted back the way they had come . . . for about six feet. Then his exhausted body could take no more, and he had to stop, gasping for breath and leaning on the wall for support.

"Arthur, what is it?"

He stammered, "R-r-r-r-rabbit."

"Rabbit?" Trillian repeated, looking over her shoulder. "But there's nothing there!"

"How can you not see it? It's **huge**!" Arthur spluttered. His face had gone a funny color, even worse than the green.

Trillian put a hand to his forehead. "Oh, Arthur, you're burning up! We've got to get you back to bed. Come on."

"Just don't let it get me!"

"I won't let it get you," she said in a soothing tone. No point arguing that the rabbit wasn't there now.

This was turning out to be a disaster, she thought. All she wanted was a nice holiday on a sunny beach. Now Arthur and Ford were ill, Zaphod was who knew where, hostile aliens were aboard their ship with only a manically depressed robot to talk to, and . . . And what? What was it she was forgetting? Was there someone else here?

And was it her imagination, or was it getting cold in here?

424242424242424242424242

Ford lifted his head and looked about. He could hear footsteps approaching, but couldn't tell from which direction. Nor could he determine whether they were Human, Zubranite, or mechanical.

Finding nothing nearby to hide behind, he lay flat on the floor in the hopes that whoever it was would walk right by without seeing him. After all, how often did you look down while you walked?

The footsteps passed him by, and Ford breathed a sigh of relief. He pushed himself up on his elbows. Bright blue dots swam before his eyes, and his head was throbbing like he'd had one too many drinks, which he hadn't in some time. He wondered if he'd picked up some weird disease on Zuliphix XII; they said all kinds of microbes lurked in holiday resorts. And both sides in Zuliphix's civil war had used chemical weapons; what might that have done to his body?

"OK, Ford," he said to himself, "time to get up and . . . ooh, nice cool floor . . . feels good . . . I think I'll just stay here a while."

He passed out again, but not before the most absurd thought entered his mind: _I hope before I die I at least find out what's up with the rabbits._

4242424242424242424242

"There's no escaping now," the Senior Torturer said to a chained and helpless Zaphod Beeblebrox. "You think you're so clever, but we'll see just who the clever one is when I get my hands on you."

Zaphod looked at the hands in question. "How long have you been biting your nails?"

"Your clever remarks won't save you now."

"I'm serious. You under a lot of stress?"

The Torturer was baffled by this behavior. Shouldn't the prisoner be crying and begging for mercy?

"And I can tell from the way you walk that your back's giving you trouble, too. I can sort that out for you."

The Torturer didn't know what to do. On the one hand, he knew prisoners would say and do anything to get free, up to and including several acts that were illegal on many planets.

On the other . . . his back **had** been bothering him a great deal since his wife had talked him into an afternoon of furniture-moving last week.

"Okay, then," Zaphod said. "Walk around in pain the rest of the day. It's up to you . . ."

The Torturer thought about it. Given that he'd had to sleep standing upright against a wall for the past three nights, losing his job and possibly his life was a small price to pay.

"All right," he said. "But no tricks, mind you."

"Who, me?" Zaphod said indignantly.

The Senior Torturer lay across the Table of Excruciating Agony and waited for Zaphod to do his magic, a move which will henceforth be referred to as "Mistake Number One". Closing his eyes probably didn't help any.

Zaphod made a few rubbing motions against the Torturer's back with two of his hands, while the third slipped the keys to the chains out of the Torturer's pocket. He withdrew so quietly and unobtrusively that the Torturer fell asleep, only waking up some time later when alarms went off.

His first thought was _That_ _feels a lot better._

His second, upon noticing the absence of 1) his keys, 2) his gun, and 3) his prisoner, was _I'm going to get lynched for this, aren't I?  
_

Zaphod had passed the same set of pipes four times by the time the alarm went off. You'd think if you followed the ventilation ducts for far enough, they'd eventually come out somewhere, but the Krelinians(5) had built their ventilation system with stowaways in mind, and most of the ducts only led, eventually, to themselves.

"Okay, Beeblebrox," he said to himself. "Ten points out of ten for style, but minus several million for no sense of direction. Wish I'd thought to bring a map or—"

He looked up just in time to avoid colliding with the last person he'd ever expected—or wanted—to see again.

"You!"

"You!"

Stay tuned for the exciting (6) conclusion!

(1) Zaphod did toss some money on the table, but it wasn't the local currency, and is in fact worthless anywhere but its point of origin.

(2) It's probably a good idea to have a Vogon between you and a Zubranite. Vogons make better targets.

(3) Since that's all they were capable of saying by the time they actually saw him.

(4) Except for Agrajag.

(5) You remember them, don't you? The Zubranites stole their ship back in Chapter 4.

(6) They always say that, although it isn't always true. But it will be in this case!


	6. We Need an Ending

6. We Need an Ending

_The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ defines a cliffhanger as "an ending of a chapter in a serial work of fiction that leaves the reader in suspense until the next segment is published." The length of time between chapters can vary, depending on how much suspense the author wishes to generate.

The longest cliffhanger in history was perpetuated, though unintentionally, by Zumm Zazreth of Aluna IX, who finished chapter 16 of "Love's Wondrous Wonder", wrote "to be continued . . .", and promptly dropped dead. This was not discovered until seventeen years later, when an angry mob of romance fans stormed his home demanding the next chapter and inadvertently discovered his moldering remains. "Love's Wondrous Wonder" remains unfinished to this day.

As this is the last chapter of this story, the author is unlikely to end it on a cliffhanger. (1)

4242424242424242424242

Aboard the Zubranite vessel, Zaphod had just discovered that he was not the only prisoner to have recently escaped.

"What are **you** doing here?" he demanded.

"That's just what I was about to ask you," Kalitha said. Of all the people she could have been sneaking through air vents with, why did it have to be the man she hated most in the entire universe?

"Look," Zaphod said, "I know you're not exactly crazy about me—"

"No, **you're** the crazy one."

"Doesn't matter now. We've got to work together to get out of here."

"There **is** no way out! I've been all over the ventilation system for hours now, looking for the way out! All the ducts lead around in a big circle!"

"There must be grilles somewhere."

"There are. They're as big as my fist. I suppose we could punch a hole in a wall or something . . ."

"But that would attract too much attention," Zaphod mused. Not that he had anything against attention—unless it was the kind that would get him killed.

Kalitha rolled her eyes and said, "Do **you** have any ideas?"

"No," Zaphod was forced to admit. "But if we put our heads together, we might be able to come up with something to get us out of this maze and back to the _Heart of Gold_."

"How do we escape," Kalitha mused, "without getting killed or enslaved by the Big Uglies?"

"Haven't got a clue, gorgeous."

"Call me that again and die."

4242424242424242424242

Trillian was just getting Arthur settled in a bed in sickbay when Eddie interrupted her. "Guys, we've got a problem down on Deck 3. Besides the sudden cold snap we're having, we seem to have a crewmember down."

"What do you mean?" Trillian asked.

"Mr. Prefect is passed out in Corridor 159. (2) His life signs appear to be very erratic . . ."

She sighed. Just what she didn't need, more complications. "I'll go and get him. Arthur, you stay here."

There was a strange sound just then. It was hard to identify at first, but soon it became apparent that the sound was not mechanical. It was, in fact, a snore.

"Where's that coming from?" Trillian asked. It had to be close; it was loud enough to rival Disaster Area for "Loudest Noise of Any Kind in the Known Universe."

"Let me find out for you!" Eddie announced. After a moment, he said, "I'm happy to report that all the Zubranites on the bridge are taking a little nap right now. Be very, very quiet."

"Oh, shove that," she said. "Marvin, get me a blaster."

"About time you remembered me," Marvin said. "I am still here, you know."

"Yes, I can see that. Now get me a blaster!"

"Very well." Marvin clanked over to the munitions cabinet and took down a Standard Service Blaster ™. The Paranoid Android handed it to Trillian with a sigh that sounded like glass just before the breaking point.

Trillian left the room to do a bit of Zubranite-hunting, leaving Marvin on his own again (except for Arthur, who wasn't much company, being unconscious again).

42424242424242424242

"This is just great!" Zaphod grumbled, and sat down opposite the wall he'd been kicking at in the hopes of making a hole.

"What is? That we can't get out, or that we're stuck here together, possibly until we die?"

"Are you ever gonna tell me why it is that you hate me so much?"

"You really want to know?"

"Yes!"

"You're sure you really want to know?"

"TELL ME!" his heads chorused.

"Fine! I'll tell you! Remember a little planet called Santringula Xerxes VII?"

"Sounds vaguely familiar . . ."

"You were there on a publicity tour, and spoke to a second grade class at the primary school."

Zaphod looked at her dubiously. "You're not still in second grade?"

"Don't be daft. I was the teacher."

"Teacher? You?"

"Yes. At least, I **was**."

"How's a teacher end up as a car park attendant?"

"Do you want to hear this story or not?"

"Yeah, yeah. Go ahead."

"You were asked that day about your plans for Santringula Xerxes VII, and you said everything was, and I quote, 'cool and froody'."

"So? What's wrong with being froody?"

"Nine days later," Kalitha said, spitting every word out like poison, "the planet was destroyed. Demolished! By a Vogon Constructor fleet. Something about a new hyperspace bypass."

"Aw, bad luck. Nothing to do with me, though."

"**You **signed the demolition order!"

"What? Me? No!"

"It has your signature on it. Here, I'll show you." She rummaged through the folds of her cardigan and pulled out a creased bit of paper. "Take a look!"

Zaphod looked the form, which was headed ORDER FOR DEMOLITION, PLANETARY, over carefully. Yes, that was his Jart Zingle (3) there, on the "Authorization" line. But he couldn't remember actually signing the thing.

"You **lied **to me!" Kalitha said. "You assured us that our planet's future was golden, when in fact we **had **no future! Look at the date—you signed it the day before the visit! You bastard!"

"Wait a minute . . ." Zaphod tried to remember what he'd been doing that day. The usual meetings he slept through . . . a briefing about something he hadn't paid much attention to, and yes, there was a round of documents for him to sign.

Oh, Zarquon . . .

"Look," he said, "the President of the Galaxy is a very busy man! I didn't have time to **read **all the bits of paper they shoved at me to sign!"

Her face went white. "You didn't even **read **it?"

"I had people to tell me which ones were the important ones! Nobody said a word about any planetary demolition!"

"I don't believe it!" She threw up her hands—at least, as much as was possible in the confined space. "Not only am I stuck in a ventilation shaft on a Zubranite warship with the man who destroyed my planet, but he's so cataclysmically dim that he doesn't even know he did it!" (4)

She kicked the wall, not out of the hope of making a hole in it, but simply because it was the nearest solid object within striking distance.

A moment later, the entire wall collapsed.

"Well?" said Marvin. "Are you coming or not?"

4242424242424242424242

Trillian met them at the Teleporter. "Have you been here all this time?"

"Pretty much." Zaphod's left head blinked its eyes, while his right made kissing noises. "You?"

"Just got here after dropping off the Zubranites. We need to get out of here before they wake up."

"Good idea." Zaphod set the controls; Trillian did the countdown. Kalitha settled for sullen silence. In a moment, they were back on the _Heart of Gold_.

"Eddie, get us as far away from that ship as possible, as fast as possible!" Zaphod ordered.

"You got it, fella!"

Kalitha hit the switch that activated the Improbability Drive, and off they went.

4242424242424242424242

The Zubranites finally woke up some time later, looked around and began cursing the bluest of blue streaks at having lost Beeblebrox. In his fury, the Zubranite captain destroyed every piece of furniture on the ship, and then shot half the crew just because he felt like it.

"FIND HIM!" He ordered the surviving crew. "I SHALL NOT REST UNTIL BEEBLEBROX IS DEAD!"

No one told the captain they hadn't the faintest idea where Zaphod Beeblebrox was. No one mentioned the fact that among the debris the captain had left in his furious wake was the Navicomp, smashed to electronic bits. No, they just kept their mouths shut and did as they were told.

Maybe in a few million light years, they'd stop and ask directions.

4242424242424242424242

"I seem to have missed all the excitement," Arthur Dent said when he finally woke up. He was feeling much better now, and almost back to his original color. "So, just what's everyone been up to while I was unconscious?"

Trillian quickly filled him in on their tussle with the Zubranites and their narrow escape.

"Why is it so cold in here?" Arthur interrupted. "Did something break down?"

"I did that," Ford said. "I had to find a way to overpower the Zubranites, and I figured out that lowering the air temperature would put them into hibernation mode. Should be back to normal soon."

"I'm working on it right now, guys," said Eddie, "and it's a pleasure to do it!"

Arthur was peering at Ford curiously. "Where have your spots gone?"

"I'm afraid that was a ruse," Ford explained, "to dupe the Zubranites into thinking that I wouldn't be a threat to them. With their attention focused elsewhere, I was able to slip off and muck about with the heating system. It was all part of the plan."

"You could have told us, instead of faking some horrible disease," Trillian said.

"It was all I could think of."

Kalitha was sulking in the corner. Zaphod came up to her.

"I don't usually do this, so it might come out a bit awkward."

"Do what?"

"Apologize. I am really, really sorry for letting them blow up your planet. I had no idea what I was signing . . ."

"Well, maybe if you weren't such an airhead—"

"Heads," Marvin said helpfully.

"Whatever! If you had paid more attention to your work, you would have been able to stop it!"

"Hey, I'm trying to apologize here, and all you can do is criticize me?"

"I'm trying to point out that you should read what you put your name on! You **can **read, can't you?"

"Listen, you four-eyed witch—"

"All right!" Trillian broke it up. "Kalitha, we'd be happy to take you home . . ."

"I don't have a home, thanks to your boyfriend here!" Kalitha snapped.

"Or, we could let you stay with us," Ford suggested.

"Home sounds good," said Kalitha.

"Set course back to Vadeegallum VI so we can be rid of this chick once and for all," Zaphod ordered.

"Happy to oblige!"

"Engage Infinite Improbability Drive."

"IID engaged!"

The _Heart of Gold _leapt into the blackness of space.

EPILOGUE

"Wasn't it nice of the new management of the Hotel Baragleebin to let us have a free week's stay?" said Trillian, who was applying more sunblock, now that there was an actual sun to block.

"Yeeeeeeees," Zaphod sighed. "Now this is more like it! Glad they finally got the hotel rebuilt."

"Yes, it's amazing how fast they put it back up, considering," said Arthur. "I can't wait to hit those waves!"

"Oh, you can't swim in that water," Ford said, as he adjusted the umbrella. "It's toxic to humans."

"**What?** Why didn't you tell me this?"

"I was about to when the rain started, and then the hotel blew up! I never got a chance!"

"Hmph!" Arthur sat on the blanket and stared out at the beautiful, blue, toxic ocean. "It's just like I always say: never trust the brochure."

(1)Unless she decides to write a sequel.

(2) Reference to _Red Dwarf_, where all the action seemed to happen in Corridor 159.

(3) Famous founding politician on Betelgeuse V, whose ornate signature made him as famous on his own world as John Hancock is on Earth.

(4) Yes, I admit it, I stole this from the movie. Call it homage, if you will.


End file.
